


Perfect

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cullen and Samson enjoy an evening of downtime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

Armor off, sheets mussed, candles burnt low. The air was warmer than it had been, a false spring in Skyhold after weeks of of snow and ice, which lent to his room being more liveable than it had been recently. The bed, usually piled high with furs, was bare save two bodies and they twined together like they were made for each other. That made it warmer. Body heat made it warmer. _Samson’s_ body heat made it warmer. **  
**

Cullen leaned back, tunic already sliding off his shoulder to expose his collarbone, and put his weight on his arm. Warm lips were already at his throat, softness where there was the scratch of a beard around them, and he sighed. His head tipped back just enough to give Samson room and Cullen looped his other arm around the man’s shoulders as those warm lips brushed over his skin. This was a good feeling. It was right. It was _everything_.

Already Samson was deliciously naked. He’d been waiting for him up in the room and pushed Cullen to the bed without a word. It was all hands and lips then, was all hands and lips now, and Cullen swallowed hard to keep from groaning. He’d been waiting for this all day. He waited for this every day. Without the hum of lyrium in his body anymore there was the hum of fire that had nothing to do with his Templar abilities. Now it was just that heat and fire that came from his wanting. Gooseflesh covered his skin for every brush of lips, and he sighed happily. Samson had waited for him. Samson _wanted_ him.

They fell back against the bed together. Those warm lips didn’t pause on their journey across Cullen’s neck, though those warm hands inched his tunic up and over his head. The air was cool, but Samson was so warm. The little hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end for the mix of heat and cold and stubble and lips. It happened every time. Cullen _wanted_ it to happen every time. He wanted to feel that heat spread through his blood and pool low in his belly the moment Samson looked at him with hungry eyes. He wanted the man to look at him with those hungry eyes for the rest of time, Maker help him, and he’d return it as best he could.

Warm lips trailed lower, kissed and bit at his pale and freckled skin until little red marks covered the spaces in between what his mother had called Andraste’s kisses when he was a boy. He’d been so self conscious about his freckles then, hated them, but had somehow learned first to laugh at them then love them when Samson would trace them at night and make pictures like they were stars in the constellations. Now those marks were peppered with bruises and bites and Cullen wanted Samson to trace and make pictures from those too.

He gasped when that hot, wet mouth found a nipple, and the hand resting between Samson’s shoulder blades moved into dark hair. Samson licked, teased, and Cullen tightened his grip as he felt another wave of heat take him and move lower toward his cock. He was hard now. It didn’t take long, really, despite the fact that neither of them were in their twenties anymore. Every lick of Samson’s tongue, press of his lips, and nips of his teeth made Cullen harder. He loved and hated that it was so easy for the man, but at the same time he rejoiced in the fact that his body practically cried out for it.

Then his trousers were gone and Samson’s hands framed his waist. That mouth was still teasing him, and Cullen’s head tipped back all the way until it hit the headboard and he rested it there. His blood was so hot, so so hot, and he wanted more. He wanted that mouth all over him. He wanted Samson’ skin pressed against his own. He wanted that touch and what the touches meant.

“Andraste’s blood,” Samson murmured, and it sounded loud in the silence.

Cullen looked down, looked down the long lines of his lover’s body and just watched as one hand left Cullen’s hip to stroke himself a few times. Samson was hard, hard and leaking at the tip already. How he wanted him. How Cullen wanted whatever Samson wanted to do so long as he didn’t stop touching him. He could have watched him touch himself, could have watched long fingers move over the man’s cock for hours, and he licked his lips in response as their eyes met. It was only a moment, but Cullen could have sworn the candles burned hotter and the room got warmer just for that few seconds they shared.

Then Samson was on him. He was on him with his hand flung out to grab the small bottle of oil that lived permanently on the table beside the bed. Samson was kissing him hard, tongue pushing past Cullen’s scarred lips, and they moaned together as their hips met and rocked. It was just enough friction to make them both shiver. Just enough, but not enough at all. Cullen wanted more. Samson wanted more, and he knew it, and that made him want everything the man would give him. They kissed, kissed and swallowed the noises each other made, and pressed together so close that no one would be able to tell where Cullen ended and Samson began.

He waited. He waited for the feeling of Samson’s fingers pressing into him. He waited for the feeling of that stretch so the other man might fuck him, but instead there was nothing more than the weight of Samson on him. Cullen knew he opened the oil. Cullen knew he covered his fingers in it, but he didn’t feel those longer fingers moving inside him. Maybe he was making Cullen wait. Maybe he’d make him ask. Maybe he’d make him beg. They’d done that before. It had been a delightful kind of torture that was an exercise in restraint for them both. He and Samson were patient men, when it came to what they wanted, and that had been a good night. Tonight, however, wasn’t like that one.

Cullen groaned, let out something long and loud when oiled fingers finally wrapped around his cock. They’d kissed for a long time, and Samson’s mouth had only moved away from his long enough to lift his hips and manage his balance. Maker, but Cullen _needed_ that hand. He needed that tight friction and slow pace. He bucked his hips, tried to chase that pleasure, but Samson pulled his hand away again and all Cullen could do was look up in mild annoyance at only being teased. But then…

Oh, but then…

“Raleigh,” he whispered as his back arched.

“Maker, _Cullen_!”

Samson kissed him again. He kissed him with both arms wrapped around his shoulders so he surrounded Cullen completely. He kissed him so soundly, so perfectly, and he rocked and dropped his hips as he fucked himself on Cullen’s cock. He hadn’t pushed those long fingers inside of _Cullen_. No. They’d been inside _himself_ , and Cullen rested his hands on Samson’s thighs to get just enough leverage to buck his hips in that same rhythm. Both of them moaned and gasped, swallowed those sounds again, and Cullen bit sharply at Samson’s lower lip.

It was so perfect like this. Samson’s body was hot and slick and tight, and Cullen could feel himself losing control with every thrust. He wouldn’t last long like this, not with how deeply Samson pushed him inside himself, and Cullen just gripped at his legs as he let the man ride him. His mind was far away, high above them and floating somewhere with nothing but pleasure. It spread through him like that heat had: first a drifting kind of goodness, but that pleasure soon became coiled and sharp and _pointed_ and he was going to come. He was going to come, and Samson just kissed him and rode him until they were both shaking.

His fingers dug into Samson’s thighs when he came, and he grunted into that perfect mouth as that pleasure boiled over. Cullen felt it rush from the base of his skull all the way to his toes, and it was like his mind whited out. Then it was like he was wrapped in something warm and fuzzy inside his head, and he sighed as he kissed Samson again. This time it wasn’t something hard and frantic. It was slow and searching.

“Did you…” Cullen breathed when their lips parted, and he looked down to see Samson’s cock still hard and damp at the tip.

A grin. Another kiss. A warm hand against Cullen’s cheek, and that brush of lips and stubble against his own moving toward his ear, “Soon,” Samson told him in that low, graveled voice.

“Soon?” he repeated.

Then Samson was up on his knees and leaning over Cullen. He leaned forward with a smug kind of grin. Cullen looked up, amber eyes trained on Samson’s dark ones, and took a breath. He only looked away when the blunt head of Samson’s cock bumped against his lips, and Cullen parted his own. He licked, sucked him into his mouth, and Samson groaned as his hips bucked forward.

Both of Samson’s hands went to rest on the headboard, and he fucked into Cullen’s mouth in long, slow strokes. It was so obscene. It was _perfect_. It was the subtle sound of Cullen sucking and swallowing around him, and Cullen didn’t want it to end.

One hand lowered, tangled in Cullen’s curls and tugged until amber eyes met dark ones again. Samson was smiling, despite the look of barely restrained pleasure, and he thrust his hips in again.

“Soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr! @sallyamongpoison


End file.
